


I First Fell For You When I Was Five, (Now I’m Twenty Five And I’ve Fallen Again)

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: I’d Know You No Matter Who We Were [7]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Angst, Annapolis, Crushes, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Hopes and Dreams, Idiots in Love, Leads Into Canon, M/M, Missing Scene, Navy, Nursery, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Rivalry, School, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: With a little push, Tom Kazansky would fight for his dreams: winning, achieving, enlisting, Annapolis. Pete Mitchell.He may have to wait twenty years but, he’d never give up on Pete Mitchell.Writersmonth Day 12 Prompt:Dreams





	I First Fell For You When I Was Five, (Now I’m Twenty Five And I’ve Fallen Again)

They spent their first day at a new nursery together. Both were at the sandbox, one holding a toy crane and the other had a steamroller. The little blonde boy had huge, sparkling hazel eyes and liked to stare a lot. The little brunette had more of a pronounced furrow in his brow, his eyes gleamed green.

It was the blonde who cornered the brunette, having been staring at him playing on his own for the last few minutes. The two of them were barely four years old and within moments they were playing with one another, chatting and laughing, making strange noises that they thought the trucks and diggers would make.

The following day the little brunette came up to the blonde who, was sat with a book. This time he was all alone. The brunette brandished a small toy, it was of a plane, painted grey and black. He thrust it into the blonde boy’s little hands who just turned to him, confused.

“One day.. I’ll be flying.”

The blonde eyebrows deepened, he pursed his lips into a pout. As though he required an explanation.

“A plane? You want to be..”

“A pilot. Like my papa.. he flies in the.. uh,” he paused, for added effect, “_Navy_!”

The little blonde boy was bewildered, he was smiling. He had a truly beautiful smile but it was hard to tell. He pouted a lot but he wasn’t moody, he wasn’t a trouble maker. He just liked to pout and narrow his eyes. He was just intuitive, questioning everything, wanting to learn and expand.

The little brunette boy didn’t always like to smile but when he did, it was wide and full of his teeth. He too had a beautiful smile and, it was a shame that it wasn’t seen more often.

“I too.. my daddy’s in the Navy!” The blonde was smiling again, “a Comm.. Commander I think.”

“Wow!”

They both huddled together over in one corner, taking it in turns to ‘pilot’ the plane. They were laughing and talking for what felt like hours, both made it last.

The blonde turned to the clock on the other side of the classroom. He squinted.

“My mommy will be here in any minute..” the blonde rose to his feet, he ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at his eyes.

“You.. you can tell the _time_?” The brunette was in disbelief.

The blonde chuckled and nodded his head, “play with me tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Wait, what’s your name?”

He stood up ramrod straight, took a deep breath and did a mocking salute. “Tom.” He said.

“That’s a nice name, I’m Pete.” He too, saluted.

“See you, Pete!” Tom waved as he skipped away. 

* * *

They ended up at the same school. It had been five years that they had been friends. By now, they were the best of friends; inseparable. Wherever Pete went Tom would follow. And when Tom took the lead, Pete sometimes whined about it but, he would be right by Tom’s side.

It was coming up on New Years Eve: Tom’s tenth birthday.

He was having a party at his house with most of the class in tow. Pete had asked if he could spend the night and Mrs Kazansky, as always, was over the moon to see the two boys’ friendship growing stronger every day.

“Of course you can spend New Years here Pete but, have you asked your mother?”

Pete nodded.

“Are you sure, Pete? I don’t want her to worry about you. I know that she does a lot.” She asked, crouching down to meet Pete’s gaze.

“She.. she uh, didn’t.. answer..” Pete trailed off.

Mrs Kazansky just smiled. She’d met Mrs Mitchell before and had asked in the school if they knew what was happening to her. She wasn’t told the specifics but Tom, intuitive and embracing his inner detective skills, tried to fill in the blanks:

Pete had just lost his father, some terrible plane crash somewhere.. dangerous. He had never returned, his plane had never been found. And for Mrs Mitchell.. she didn’t talk anymore.

Mrs Kazansky just nodded to Pete. She was more than happy for him to stay with them, whenever he needed.

The party was a success. Tom’s mother always put in a full effort to see her son smiling and to have him laughing. She had made everything from tiny sandwiches, to his cake and the fruit bowl. Pete had taken one look at the never ending buffet table and his mouth had dropped, Tom clutched at his side knowing that he’d have to reign Pete in.

Tom turned Pete to him, slowly, so that their gazes locked and their smiles met.

“_Cadbury’s_!” They both said, smiling, before Pete broke away and ran to grab a piece.

Another kid asked ‘what the hell are..’ And Pete had just chimed in, “Tom’s dad was in England. He bought tons of this stuff back. It’s his new favourite!” Pete knocked Tom’s shoulder, who giggled.

Pete couldn’t really afford Tom a present as such but, he’d kept aside some pocket money for the charity shop down his street. He saw, a few days back, what he knew Tom would like. He only hoped Mrs Kazansky hadn’t had a similar idea.

“Happy Birthday!” Pete yelled, thrusting a box into Tom’s arms. “Sorry I.. can’t wrap presents. It’s really hard.” He mumbled.

Tom just took it from him and paused. He looked to Pete then back down to his box. He looked back to Pete who was grinning, wild and free. Tom met his smile with one of his own. He lurched forward, arms flinging around Pete’s neck and he hugged him tight.

“Thank you, thank you! We can make it together.”

“Make what together, Little Wingman?”

“_Wingman_?” Pete questioned. He had never heard Mrs Kazansky say that before.

She gasped, “Oh Pete, it’s wonderful! Tom’s dad has flown in one of those you know, a real one.”

“Really?” Both boys asked.

“I miss dad.” Tom muttered, to no one in particular.

What Pete had so graciously saved up for was a DIY Plane Model. He wasn’t too sure of the type himself but, he saw an American Flag on the box and the jet was decorated with the same Navy insignia he had plastered about his house.

“A Conv.. ver—“

“—_Convair_,” Tom corrected him, “A Convair B-fif-fifty uh, eight. Hus..uh,”

“_Hustler_.” His mother picked up where he had left off.

“Hustler. I love it Pete, thank you!” He hugged Pete again and Pete wrapped his arms tight around Tom.

The party had ended around 20:00 and Mrs Kazansky shewed the boys up to Tom’s room whilst she began clearing up.

They were looking at a room full of gifts. Pete’s eyes were wide as he followed Tom, who began to sift through. There was a box he hadn’t touched, had missed, and Tom, never missed anything.

It was small and black, the type that fancy jewellery or a coin came in. Tom picked it up, and headed to the stairs.

“Mom, mom!” He called.

“What is it sweetie? Oh, how did I forget. Daddy has something for you.”

“Dad—“ Tom’s eyebrows raised comically and Pete too, was in shock.

“Yes. I wasn’t sure when to give it to you but he insisted. He feels awful that he’s missed another one of your birthdays, Tom.”

Tom just nodded, a frustrated look painted his face.

“Can I.. open it?”

Both Mrs Kazansky and Pete laughed, “Of course Little Wingman. It’s all for you!”

Tom pried open the box, his grip was tight, and he let out a gasp.

“What is it, what is— it’s a.. _pen_.” Pete deflated. “Adults give pens as gifts?”

“It’s.. daddy’s golden fountain pen!” Tom was beaming and Pete, really wasn’t sure why. “He always uses it, why would he want me to have it now?”

“Uh, Pete. Would you mind giving me and my son a couple minutes?” Mrs Kazansky asked, with a smile.

Pete nodded and retreated to the conservatory. He lay on the small sofa, looking up at the ceiling fan.

After a little while Tom came searching for him, when Tom had found Pete, Pete had just eyed him.

“I don’t think that’s a good place to keep a pen.”

He gestured to Tom’s shirt. In between the second and third button he had latched the pen to the folds of the fabric.

“No, no. It will stay. My dad used to do this all the time. You attach it to this piece here” he pointed, “and it can’t fall.”

“Okay.. it’s still weird.”

Tom just smiled, then he broke into a laugh. It was infectious and Pete just had to join in. His whole face creased up and Tom, just laughed more and more at the sight of Pete’s blushing face.

They had both asked Tom’s mother if they could stay up and watch the fireworks. She was hesitant at first but she agreed.

The two of them were in their pyjamas with the clock approaching midnight. Tom, for some strange reason, was wired. As though he didn’t want the day to end, he had to savour it. He had to take what he wanted. Pete, on the other hand, was fighting with himself to stay awake. He slapped himself in the face a couple of times, much to Tom’s amusement, and planted himself on Tom’s bed. He knelt up as Tom sat down beside him.

Tom opened his blinds and checked his watch.

“Okay, Okay. Ten more seconds.”

They both counted down.

The clock struck twelve, the deep midnight was painted in glaring oranges and yellows, huge bangs and crashes filled the air. None of that mattered.

Tom was on his knees, he leant forward and ran a hand through Pete’s brown hair. He carefully tilted his head and pressed their lips together. Pete squirmed, his eyes slipped shut and he tried to relax.

Tom slowly pulled away, letting his forehead rest against Pete’s as he caught his breath. Pete broke away mumbling with a look that Tom didn’t recognise. He wiped at his lips and jumped off of the bed, into his own mattress on the floor. His face told Tom, that he was freaked out. He was disgusted.

Pete just rolled over and forced himself to sleep.

Tom sat on his bed, paralysed, trying to get a handle on what he’d just done. He couldn’t look at Pete, he forced his gaze back out to his window. He sat and watched the fireworks. He sat and watched the colours interweave, and tried his best not to focus on anything else.

He failed. He let his tears fall. 

* * *

They were about to start high school. Both were nervous but showed it in different ways. Or, in Tom’s case, not at all.

It had been over two years since he had kissed Pete and sure, they were still friends but it just wasn’t the same. Pete was slipping, he was changing in ways that Tom wasn’t sure he understood. And he hated not knowing.

He couldn’t bring himself to ask Pete but he was sure that it had to do with his mother. His father had been long gone and any memories of him, Tom was sure, had too slipped from Pete.

Pete hadn’t attended the last month of school. His body had been in the room but his head.. was someplace else. Far away. On a distant tangent that Tom couldn’t breech.

Tom was growing more and more worried and upset. He just wanted to see Pete, talk to him. Hug him. _Kiss_ him.

One day he asked his teacher where Pete was. She couldn’t look him in the eye. She skirted around it, fumbled with her words and that’s when Tom knew:

Pete’s mother had passed and he was alone and afraid. He couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He was shutting out the world whilst his own tiny world was collapsing in on itself.

Tom was crying to his mother about it that night after school. She didn’t know what to say or how to comfort him, she had never seen her son so distressed.

“I just..” he sniffed, looking up to the ceiling, “want him.. back.”

All she could do was hug him tight, whisper the little re-assurances in his ear. But Tom could tell, that his mother didn’t believe a word of it. Mrs Kazansky was always one to be blunt, it ran in the family after all.

“You don’t believe any of that. He’s not okay. He won’t let me help him. I can’t even.. _touch_ him!” He bawled. 

* * *

They were fourteen, with their places firmly in the school’s social hierarchy. Pete had slipped further and further, letting his attitude and attention problems being all that he showcased. He came to school in scruffy jeans, an un-ironed shirt with holes in the sleeve. One day he appeared with a bomber jacket and when he was asked where he had gotten it from, Pete had just looked the girl up and down and coughed out something pathetic. He left her there, confused and irritated.

It wasn’t a secret at this point. Pete had already escaped a foster home and was being forced into another by the student support staff. He hated it, this form of attention. It wasn’t as though they tried to hide his situation either, the word got out and he was treated different. He was encouraged to isolate himself.

And he did. He became an outsider, always looking in, always judging just that split second too late.

Tom was a genius. He aced his classes and loved his sports. He was the best at whatever task was set in front of him. However Tom wasn’t cocky about it, he embraced his skills and talent and kept them on the down-low. Although having such skills meant that he liked to keep himself to himself, in some cases.

He had a large crowd, full of jocks as his loyal followers. They did follow Tom, they clung to his every word. He was their leader but he never commanded them as such, never demanded that he be listened too and respected. Tom was the sovereign of the group, their shining star, their prom king, and a boy who had the world at his feet.

He excelled. He surpassed the expectations of his teachers and his mother however he was never fulfilled. He’d beat himself down, inside, always belittling his greatest achievements when he was alone. Nobody else saw how unhappy he became. It wasn’t until he’d started talking less, scowling more, that he too began to disengage from his friends. He never truly left them, he just needed his space. But that was okay, he could entertain himself when his own haunting thoughts and dreams didn’t consume him. 

* * *

Two years later and a lunch break a fight had broken out. Tom was surrounded by his clique, not really paying attention nor was he eating anything, he just sat there with his feet up on the table and slouched. He twirled his father’s golden fountain pen across his knuckles in a rhythmic dance that voiced his disinterest.

Pete, on the other hand, was yelling. To some beefy guy who had caused the fight. Maybe Pete wasn’t the target, maybe he was. All that Pete knew was that his reputation was painting the target on his back. He was too easy. So, he toughened himself up. Shut himself out completely. Only answered those he thought deserved his attention and more often then not, roamed the lonely halls wallowing deep in self preservation.

Tom caught sight of him and frowned. He saw the flush in Pete’s face and new that in any moment he would either screech in the guy’s face, punch him, kick the table, or just shove his hands in his pockets and walk away.

Pete shoved his hands a little too far that his right fist poked through. He swore. Laughter erupted all around him but Pete, just sauntered out of the canteen. He didn’t say a word as he slipped on his sunglasses. He slammed a couple of doors but, he didn’t say a word.

He’d caused a stir in English last period on a Friday afternoon. Pete couldn’t bring himself to argue so he upped, followed the teachers order and sat where she told him too.

“Yes, ma’am.” He ground out as he plonked himself down at the back of the classroom.

Each head turned to him. One particular frosty gaze seemed to linger longer than all others.

“What’re you looking at, Kazansky?”

“Mitchell.. you’re killing yourself. What the hell is going on?” He tried to act coy, to shield his concern but Tom’s own patience was wearing thin.

“Like you’d care. Just focus on your studies and make a name for yourself. Forget about me.” He whispered, eyes anywhere but on Tom’s weary face.

Tom was taken aback, but he did not retreat.

“Meet me in the locker room after class. You need to talk to someone about this.”

Pete sighed an over dramatic sigh. For reasons he couldn’t identify, he later found himself strolling up to the gym, down the hallway and too the boys changing room.

He strutted through, staggered his gait. His fist collided with a couple lockers and that, called Tom too him.

They were yelling at one another or rather, Tom kept yelling at Pete. He just kept pushing and pushing, praying that Pete would break. For Pete to feel something and to let him in.

“Why now huh? It’s been years, Tom. What’s changed?”

“_You_.”

“But I-“

“You haven’t been the same in years you stupid—“ Tom stopped himself, he took a deep breath, “whatever your vendetta against me is now doesn’t matter. We won’t be here for much longer and where you could wind up is scaring the hell out of me.” His words sounded stale.

Pete cocked his head, then turned away from him.

“Why would you care what happens to me? You’re about to run off, enlist, work your ass off and you’ll be a captain by the time you turn thirty-five. You know what you want Tom, your path is all laid out for you. You just keep on achieving, keep winning and for the last goddamn time, _forget_ about me. Follow your dreams and _forget_ about me.” He belted, fists clenched and he had a vein popping out of his neck.

Pete started to walk away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders slumped.

“What if I _can’t_ Mitchell?”

Pete paused, “can’t what Kazansky?”

Tom stuttered, he huffed out a sigh. He looked upwards, sniffed, and forced himself to say “Bring myself to forget about you, asshole.”

He saw Pete tense.

“You’re leading yourself down a path of destruction Pete and I won’t have it. You didn’t deserve any of the crap that you’ve been through but this, _this_ you can change. Get a handle on. For God’s sake Mitchell, didn’t you have any _hopes_? Any _dreams_? To get out into the world and make something of yourself?” He was practically yelling and Tom hated himself for it. “C’mon Mitchell. You must want something in your life that’s good.” His tone was losing its edge.

Tom’s eyes widened at the realisation, he heard Pete sniff and choke out a sob. His back was still turned but Tom watched as he quickly rubbed at his face.

“Fuck Pete; I’m sorry.. I, I just hate to see you.. doing this to yourself.” Tom strutted up to him and put a huge hand on Pete’s shoulder. He felt Pete stiffen but he didn’t retreat. “Whatever this is.”

Tom forced Pete to turn to him, he took one look at Pete’s teary eyes and he threw his arms around Pete, forcing him to come closer and to bury himself in Tom’s welcoming embrace.

Tom forced himself to be the shield that for years, he’d seen Pete refuse to fight with.

It was too late before Tom realised that he too was crying. Too may things were about to change. Too many emotions were about to explode. Both of them were bombs, just sitting ducks bought up in a world that would shoot them down with guns, or missiles.

Their own artillery.

Tom never missed a target but that didn’t stop him being far too late to make _this_ aim.

He unfolded himself from Pete who was shaking, looking anywhere but at Tom’s face.

“Pete.. I know we aren’t as close as we used to be but, I can’t bear the thought of this, any of this and—“

“—any of what, Tom?”

“_Leaving you_.” It flowed so natural that it scared them both.

“You have too.”

“No.. I, I..”

“I know. Annapolis was always a dream of yours right, Kazansky? You’re going. Go, go live that dream. I’ll be… fi— right here when you get back, if you.. uh, shit no, you wouldn’t come back. Just know I’ll be right here.”

“You said..you wanted to fly planes..” Tom was tearing up again, his words punctuated by shaky breaths. “the first day.. you were so sure of yourself Pete. Even at five years old, you knew what you wanted.”

Pete turned to the floor and swore, he hastily rubbed his eyes.

“Fucking _stop_ making me feel things, Tom.”

“Do it Pete. I know you can do it. Do what you always wanted too. Fly. If not for yourself, do it.. for _me_. So I know your heading somewhere, somewhere you can be free. Fly.” He ran over to Pete and hugged him again. “Please Pete, you can hate me all of your life for this but we don’t have the time now. I may never see you again-“

“The hell are you talkin—“ Pete shut up.

Tom’s lips pressed against his, he parted them with his tongue. The kiss was feverish, passionate, and Tom kept it going. He sunk deeper, breaking for a breath then he claimed Pete’s lips in his own again.

Feeling a second need for air he broke away and stayed away. Tom blushed violently, his chest was heaving and he couldn’t form any coherent sentences.

Pete decided, that he had never seen Tom looking so beautiful as he had in this moment.

“This isn’t a goodbye, right?” They both knew what it was.

Finally, Tom found his voice and maybe he had lied but, he said what they both needed to hear.

“I’ll see you later.”

“You can count on it.”

Tom left him there. He walked away from their school for the final time. Annapolis was calling him and Pete was right, although it was tearing him up inside he had to answer. He had to answer to his dreams. 

* * *

“.. tip of the spear.. We’ll make you better...”

Maverick swung his head back, inspected his competition. Or rather, just the ice blonde with a heated gaze that he knew, hadn’t left his back.

“..Now with each combat sequence you will meet a different challenge…”

Maverick swung his head back and took in the sights of a dazzling gold fountain pen waltzing to its own primed and perfected rhythm. His eyes fell upon a pristine, glimmering sapphire USNA ring. He smiled to himself.

“What are you doing?” Goose whispered, trying to not look conspicuous.

“Just wondering.. whose the best?” Maverick replied, cocky as ever. 

* * *

“…it’s _Mister_ _Iceman_ to you.”

Maverick was shaken from his momentary daze, his beer bottle halfway to his lips.

“Hey, hey Mother Goose how’s it going?” Maverick perked up at the voice, the husky baritone that still sent shivers up his spine.

“Doing good Tom. Pete Mitchell, _Tom Kazansky_.”

Little did Goose realise who they were both dealing with.

Iceman’s eyes were sparkling, nearly as bright as his damn teeth. He leant over, crowding Maverick. His gaze was shamelessly roaming all over Maverick, his service whites, the Budweiser he clutched in one hand. How he seemed to have shrunk back ever so slightly into the bar top when Iceman again, reached for something past his shoulder.

“Congratulations on Top Gun...” His voice was light, he was chewing.

Maverick eyes traced his silhouette, his lean body, his imposing frame. All his years on the volleyball court looked as though they had payed off.

“..I’m sorry to hear..”

His silken voice was drowned out, Maverick’s eyes locked onto Iceman’s perfectly plush lips and traced his defined cupid’s bow. He was still chewing and Maverick could barely tear his eyes away.

“Still is a good man.” He beamed.

“Yeah that’s, what I meant.”

Iceman popped another peanut into his mouth and Maverick smiled to himself. He’d learnt very early on that Tom just couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop snaking.

“Say you need any help?” Iceman’s voice was firm and assertive, he tipped his head forward and again, crowded Maverick’s space.

Iceman indulged in the momentary look of fear in Maverick’s eyes. It had been years but he knew, that they both were in for a hell of a fight.

“With what?”

“You figured it out, yet?” He teased, trying to ignore the fire igniting within him.

Iceman was beaming, he took in the sights of Maverick. His body, how he carried himself in his service whites, the flush in his face, the sparkle in his eyes. He cursed to himself at the proximity.

Maverick didn’t answer. His eyes locked onto Iceman’s whose own had darkened, he was looking at Maverick from under his lashes.

He crept closer and closer and Maverick too, raised himself up off of resting on the bar. They were mere inches apart, he could feel Iceman’s breaths, he lived his dominating aura.

“Whose the best pilot?”

“No, I think I can figure that one out on my own.” Maverick answered self assured.

Iceman inwardly cursed as he grew further and further from his icy apathy, he was being threatened to melt.

He never missed a target and wouldn’t fire without knowing it would pay off.

“I heard that about you, you like to work _alone_.” His voice was sincere.

This was the closest they had been that didn’t involve their lips colliding, rough hands in the other’s hair.

Maverick could see Iceman calculating his next step but neither of them took the shot. At least, not in front of Slider and Goose did either of them take the shot.

“Guess you and Goose sold under a lucky star huh, Mav? First the…”

Slider was drowned out. Maverick’s green eyes followed the length of Iceman’s tanned arm as he brushed past him, taking a shot glass. He bought the drink to his lips.

“..lucky and famous..”

Iceman downed his shot, his voice trembled through “no you mean _notorious_.” As though he didn’t believe in a thing he was saying.

Iceman cocked his head, focused all his attention back to Maverick.

“I’ll see you later.” He nodded to both Maverick and to Goose.

“You can count on it.” Maverick raised his beer, tone light and airy.

Maverick tried to regain himself, to ignore the raging spark that had turned to flames from deep within his gut. He turned to Goose, and their bottles clinked.

“We’re going to have a good time, here.”

“Always.” 

* * *

“You did it. You actually went and fucking _did_ it.” Iceman was laughing in disbelief.

He was basking in his own reflection in the O-Club bathroom mirror, when he’d caught sight of Maverick out of the corner of his left eye.

“That’s right Kazansky, I went and fucking did it.”

Iceman’s eyes never left the mirror, he followed Maverick’s reflection. He could feel his presence, his alpha dog stance was singing through his veins, his own levels peaked and he grinned. Two predators who couldn’t bear the other turning into prey. Or, wanted nothing less intense.

“So, this is the part where you ask if we should ‘_just drop right down on the tile and go for it?_’ Or will you serenade me first?” He was laughing, a deft hand spiking up his blonde frosted tips.

Maverick tore Iceman away from his clutch at the sink, from his own smirking reflection. He shoved him up against the wall, a hand in his blonde frosted tips, the other pressed firmly against his toned chest. Their tongues battled, twisted and turned until Maverick took a breath. Iceman flipped them, shoving Maverick into his place with a thud. He assaulted Maverick’s mouth with his own, forcing his tongue inside. Iceman trailed a deft hand down and gripped Maverick, hard. He moaned into Iceman’s mouth and Iceman withdrew, laughing.

“Now that’s a fucking dream about to come true too, isn’t it Ice?” Maverick was a little breathless but his cocky shit tone still prevailed.

“I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me nearly all my life. Of course it’s a—“

“—damn _wet_ dream? How many of those have you had over me, Kazansky?” He chuckled, voice deepening with every word.

Iceman blushed.

“How could it be, you’re not even naked yet.” He deadpanned, “You better be able to last, Mav-erick.” He added extra emphasis to the callsign and laughed when Maverick shivered.

“Sure as hell can.”

“Well good. I’m here to win, to _top_ you in every way. Twenty years, Mitchell and _finally_ your ass is mine.”

“Good luck keeping up with my ass.”

”Who turned you anyway?”

”Some hot young overachiever with an irritatingly beautiful smile and spiky hair. High school. Haven’t heard from him in a while, he went to Annapolis.” Maverick joked.

Iceman didn’t answer, vocally. He pressed a huge hand on Maverick’s chest and slowly backed him into the nearest bathroom stall.

“I’m still going to win that trophy though, Ka-zan-sky.” He tapped Iceman’s chest as he stretched out his surname.

Iceman coughed out ‘_bullshit_’ into one hand. Maverick just laughed and pulled him closer, a clumsy hand in Iceman’s hair, the other tugging at his belt. 

* * *

Tom Kazansky never missed a target. He listened to Pete Mitchell and was now distinguished, following his dreams. He might not admit to it yet but, he was incredibly proud of Pete and the pilot that he had become.

Tom finally had the love of his life and Pete was flying, both living out their dreams, together. They bitched and fought like mad but, they were living all the dreams that they should’ve been living, together.

Maybe Pete’s accuracy was always slightly off but Tom never missed a shot.

And when the fateful day came that Pete finally told Tom that he loved him too, they both knew that neither could be blown out of the other’s sky. Tom may have had to wait twenty years but finally, he had the man of his _dreams_.


End file.
